


Requests For Anything

by VeryLateTrash



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, IT - Stephen King, Marble Hornets, South Park
Genre: Angst, Cute, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-29 07:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13922409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryLateTrash/pseuds/VeryLateTrash
Summary: Request some stuff to ease my boredom. I'll do any ships and prompts.





	1. Request

So, basically, this is for any of my fandoms. I'm taking requests for any ships and prompts you want. All you have to do is request something and I'll write it within a day or two.


	2. Request 1: Hamburr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first request. I'll have the others up by tomorrow, probably.  
> ...  
> Request: Hamburr from Lucy Myers.

Aaron's eyes flew open. There had been a gunshot. He'd heard it. Just as he'd heard it the night before, and the night before that. Aaron's arms were supporting him, though they were shaking visibly.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see again Alexander standing in front of him, pistol aimed at the sky, as blood poured out of his side. There was a smile gracing his face as he died. A tear rolled down his face, reflecting the one that was streaking down Aaron's cheek.

Aaron saw himself. He was holding the pistol that had once fired the bullet that was now lodged in Alexander's side. 

Blood. There was blood. He looked down and saw it on his hands. It was covering them. Coating them. Red stains. Everywhere. On his pajamas, on his shirt, on his cheek, as if he'd wiped his hand on his face.

Aaron gasped for air, eyes watering as he tried to find his way out of his bed. He couldn't seem to escape the blankets covering him. 

He was trapped, but he couldn't figure out what was trapping him.

The illogical part of his brain screamed at him that it was Alexander holding him down in bed. Alexander was here, haunting him. The same blood that was coating Aaron had poured out of Alexander's side.

Aaron coughed, confused. He hadn't...He couldn't remember the touch of the gun. The memory seemed out of place but he was sure it was real. It was all so clear to him. Vivid streaks of yellow, of blue, of red painted the canvas of his memory. It'd happened. It had to have.

Aaron's brain was struggling to process why he couldn't move. Sleep paralysis? But he could move his hands well enough. 

Wait. There. Something, something long and heavy, was on his legs. He untangled himself from whatever it had been, racing toward the bathroom to clean himself of the blood.

He reached for a towel, then slathered himself with soap. He scrubbed and scrubbed at the blood, but it wouldn't come off. Why wouldn't it come off? Someone help him. 

Aaron thought he heard footsteps approaching. Oh God. There was an intruder. Had to be. He didn't live with anyone, right? Who'd live with him? A murderer. 

An awful murderer.

He stared at his blood stained hands. Blood was underneath his fingernails, underneath his skin. He wanted to puke.

There was a creak in the floorboards. The intruder was closing in on him. They knew he was in the bathroom. Crying in the bathroom. Gasping for breath in the bathroom as he scrubbed at his skin. 

Wait. Wait. Wait. 

He should've waited to see the pistol aimed so clearly toward the sky. The one time he didn't wait, and it ended with someone he loved dying.

Fuck. He loved Alexander. He was everything to him. With his beautiful brain, and charming smile. The man was an enigma, a hero. 

Burr was the villain.

Aaron considered that thought as he saw the knob on his door turn. He was a villain. Maybe the intruder was going to kill him. Would that make them the hero? Or some sort of additional villain in this twisted tale?

It hurts. 

The blood on his hands feels like it's burning his skin. He scrubs more, sure that the blood was acid. It was acid, eating away at his very being. 

It would kill him just like he'd killed Alexander.

The door opened, and Aaron ducked his head down. He didn't want to see the intruder as they killed him. He didn't want another person to be haunted with their victim's eyes as he was. 

Alexander's eyes. They were stunning, as well. Dark, intelligent, glinting with passion. 

Filled with pain as he bled out.

"Aaron..."

He could hear the last word Alexander ever said. He uttered his name. Even now, it whispered in Aaron's ear, as if he were here with him.

Oh, God. 

Aaron could hear the intruder breathing. He would die. He choked back a sob. He didn't care. He wanted to die. He wanted to meet Alexander on the other side. Beg him to love him again, somehow, someway. 

Aaron felt Alexander's touch on his cheek. He remembered the calloused hands well, as once upon a time, they'd roamed all over his body.

He felt that touch on him. He must be in the other side, then. The intruder might have killed him swiftly. That's too bad. He deserved so much worse.

"Open your eyes, Aaron."

What? That wasn't a memory. 

Slowly, he did as instructed.

He wasn't dead. Rather, he was sitting in the corner of his bathroom, a washcloth in his hand. His arm was stinging angrily, as he'd scrubbed at it too hard. No blood.

Aaron looked up. Alexander stood over him, wearing one of his hoodies, dark hair falling over his face, "Aaron, why'd you do this?" He was speaking softer than Aaron had ever heard him. His attention was directed on the inflamed arm.

Aaron shook his head slowly, and everything came rushing back to him. 

He didn't live in the 1800s. It was 2018. Alexander was his boyfriend and roommate. He was going to college for law, having dropped theology. 

Aaron blinked, "I'm sorry, love, I-...I can't remember."

Alexander sighed, taking his hand to lead him back to bed, "Flashbacks again?"

Aaron nodded slowly, "Flashbacks. 1804 this time."

Alexander frowned, slipping underneath the blanket with Aaron and resting his head on his chest, "It'll be okay. Look at me. I'm alive."

Aaron gave another nod. He slipped an arm around Alexander's shoulders, "I'm sorry I woke you."

Alexander leaned up, and caught his lips, as if telling him to shut up. 

They laid like that for a while, both worried for the other.

Finally, as Alexander started to drift off, Aaron laid a gentle hand on Alexander's side, where the wound would be, to find smooth, unpierced skin. 

Aaron pressed a kiss to Alexander's forehead, whispering a soft vow of love toward this man.

He wasn't sure whether he was the hero, or the villain in this story now. Maybe he wasn't either. Maybe he could exist here, in this moment, with Alexander and not worry about anything.

Calm overwhelmed him as he lay next to Alexander. And finally, he drifted back to sleep next to the man he was meant to be with, through the smooth and the rough.

And, Lord knows, they've been through the rough.


	3. Request 2: Creek (Gender fluid Tweek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really liked this idea, so I went ahead and wrote a drabble for it. Creek and gender fluid Tweek for Coolcat101s

Craig stood at the bus stop, waiting somewhat impatiently for his partner to arrive. He sighed, checking his watch. Usually, Tweek was there by 7:30, 7:35 at the latest. Craig tapped his foot, snow crunching underneath the hard sole of his shoe.

He ran a hand over his face, then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small figure racing toward him. Craig's mouth split into a small grin, as he noticed Tweek's attire. 

His small partner was wearing a light pink shirt, lace on the shoulders of it. It was paired with a white skirt, hanging around Tweek's knees. Tweek gave Craig a nervous smile, "S-Sorry I was late. D-Dad had me close up shop last night, and I overslept which I know i-is weird for me, but..." Tweek shrugged.

Craig only replied with another sweet smile. He pressed a kiss to Tweek's cheek, "It's fine, honey." Craig gently laced their fingers together. He felt Tweek squeeze his hand.

Craig melted as light blue eyes poured out love for him. He'd been busy pecking Tweek's button nose when the bus had arrived. Craig rolled his eyes, hearing Cartman call out a few lewd comments their way. (Cartman had always seemed much too invested in their relationship.)

Tweek led Craig onto the bus, and they sat near the back, an oddity for them, but the other seats had been filled.

Craig rested his head on Tweek's shoulder, fiddling with Tweek's fingers, just messing with them as if that was what he were meant to do with his life. Craig had adoration in his voice when he said, "You painted your nails?"

Tweek giggled, "My m-mom helped me." They were cute, a light pink with little dots of blue on them. Craig wondered how he'd managed to be with a partner that was so utterly perfect.

That was when their moment was ruined.

"Hey, what the fuck are you wearing, dude?"

Tweek's shoulders tensed. An expression grew over his face that Craig immediately recognized as the one Tweek made when they had a wave of dysphoria crash upon them.

Craig was about to find the source of the words and beat the shit out of the asshole that would make his Tweek feel anything less than gorgeous, when Tweek simply turned their head, "Well, as I'm a fucking girl, I think I should be able to wear a skirt."

Craig took that note. Feminine pronouns that day. 

"You're one ugly ass girl, then."

Craig snapped, "Hey, asshat, shut the fuck up, would you?" His words hung in the air of the suddenly quiet bus. Craig muttered, "Shit," as the bus driver ordered him to stay after she'd dropped everyone else off at school. This could mean detention.

Good news? The asshat in question did shut up.

Bad news? It was only for the remainder of the bus ride.

Later that same day, Tweek approached Craig, skirt slightly rumpled as she smiled a sly kind of smile Craig didn't connect with any particular emotion of hers. He tilted his head at her walking toward her house, having just gotten out of a short detention, "You okay?"

Tweek's lips lifted slightly, "Yeah, l-love, I'm great." She added, "But, I don't think we'll have to be d-dealing with that particular ass anymore."

It was then that Craig noticed the small bruises forming on Tweek's hands. She was short, but God, Tweek was strong, having taken boxing for years.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

Yeah. That asshat wouldn't be able to mess with anybody, much less just them, for a long time.


	4. Jamilton-Zombie Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For DM0. I hope you like this!

Alexander wiped his face, pulling back to see some blood on his hand. He frowned, then dropped his hand. He checked, out of habit, to make sure that the pistol he'd acquired was still hanging from the makeshift hold for it, looped around his belt.

He sighed, leaning back against a tree, chest heaving slightly, breath practically gone from all of the running he'd been doing.

He'd come a long way from where he started. New York was flooded with corpses of people, some of them undead. He cringed in upon himself, remembering, despite willing his brain to avoid that memory, when Laurens had attacked him.

Except it wasn't Laurens. Because Laurens had been dead for years. The face wasn't his, not really. It was as if it were made out of melted wax, dripping off of the bones like rotating meat above a fire. His eyes were sunken in, almost nonexistent. Eaten away with time.

Alexander squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently as if that would help make the image go away. He had a few others back in New York. He pursed his lips. That was perhaps the most terrifying part about the undead: they had little memories about who they loved. 

Maybe that's why Laurens had attacked Lafayette. He didn't know any better. The Frenchman went down, and Mulligan was almost taken with him. Alexander had screamed at him to leave Laf, that it was already too late, but Mulligan was in tears. The man was basically built out of brick, impossible to move when he didn't want to.

Mulligan was on his knees, reaching out to Lafayette, as his lover was being bitten, infected with the virus. Alexander hadn't heard Mulligan cry so hard in all the time they'd known each other. 

Finally, Mulligan forced himself to leave the scene, but Alexander couldn't convince him to stay with him. Mulligan said he was going to find any of Lafayette's family. To take care of them, for Laf's sake. The man had been shaking, and his eyes were reddened with tears that continued to streak down his cheeks.

Alexander had given him a short hug, then fled.

That's what brought him here. In the middle of nowhere in the state of New Jersey. 

Alexander almost let himself fall asleep, thinking that he was in the clear, when a loud crash came from somewhere close to him.

He drew his pistol, ready to shoot to kill any zombies or assholes that may steal the little provisions he had. 

"Don't shoot!" A voice he recognized shouted to him as a group of three tumbled through the woods and into the clearing where he'd set up camp.

A tall man with light stubble was leaning on another, shorter man. Alexander noticed the wound on his stomach. He recognized Aaron as the one that had shouted. 

Alexander frowned, "Burr, what happened?"

Burr's hands were shaking a bit, "Thomas got hurt earlier when we tried to escape from a group of...Well, you know what they are." He shook his head, dismissing it, "Do you think you can help him?"

The wounded man, Thomas, looked as if he'd lost some of the colour in his complexion, and his eyes didn't seem to focus just right. Alexander clenched his jaw, then nodded, "Yeah, sure, I have some stuff."

With the help of Burr and the other man, Thomas was laid down in a somewhat comfortable position in front of Alexander. Alex searched through his bag to get out some of the bandages and ointment he'd packed. 

He looked to Burr, "Do you have a weapon?"

Burr bit his bottom lip, and Alexander almost wanted to huff in annoyance. The older man's anxiety got in the way sometimes, as awful as that was for him to admit. Burr nodded, to Alexander's surprise, "I have a gun, yes."

Alexander pointed to the north end of the clearing, "Keep watch over there while I clean his wound."

Burr nodded once, and followed Alexander's instructions.

Alexander took in a deep breath, then looked to the short man holding Thomas' head in his lap, "Name?"

"James Madison."

"Are you close to him?"

James gave a short nod, "Friends, close friends."

Alexander turned that over in his head before saying, "Then can you take his shirt off for me?"

Thomas was close to completely unconscious, non-responsive to anything Alexander did, which was good, considering the pain he was sure to be going through.

Alexander might have blushed any other time, seeing how the wounded man was incredibly attractive and well built, but the situation called for him to be level headed. 

Like Washington had been before-

No. Stop thinking about that. It's not the time, Alexander.

It's time to focus on getting Thomas healthy again.

Alexander worked for a solid hour, applying ointment and bandages, pouring water onto the wound until he finally thought it was clean enough.

Night had fallen upon them, and Alexander grew more exhausted than he'd been before. From his pack, he took out the small blanket, and laid it on the ground. 

He allowed Thomas, once he'd woken up, to go down to the lake adjacent to his camp to wash himself a bit more. Alexander assumed all would be well with him, and so they'd leave come morning.

And he'd been alone again.

Alexander sighed, leaning back on his elbows, gazing into the sky. Funny. It was the same sky as it'd been before tragedy struck, before the virus hit. And yet the world below was so incredibly different.

He let out a breath, brows raised as he saw his breath accumulated in front of him. It was that cold, huh?

He wasn't surprised.

Alexander shivered, and cursed himself mentally for not bringing another blanket. 

"Cold?"

Alexander turned to see Thomas, still shirtless with a towel over his shoulders, standing behind him. He nodded, "Yeah. Aren't you?"

Thomas gave a slight shrug, "It's colder up here than in Virginia, sure, but I've been through worse."

"Virginia, huh? You've come far, too."

"I guess you could say that, though from what Burr told me, you've come farther. You're from Nevis, right?"

Alexander gave him a small nod, "Right. Nevis." He sighed, then gave a pat to the empty part of his blanket, "Sit."

Thomas only shrugged again, sitting beside him. 

The two stayed in silent for a solid moment, when Thomas broke it. Somehow, Alexander just caught onto the heavy Southern accent the man carried. It was attractive in a way that Alexander couldn't explain. Thomas said, "Thank you. For taking care of me."

Alexander glanced down at his hands, "It's not a problem, really. What else could I have done? Let you die?"

"Some people would've, rather than using their supplies on a stranger." A beat, "Though I guess we're not total strangers."

Alexander furrowed his brow, "What do you mean?"

Thomas let out an almost breathless laugh, "You don't remember? Maybe Lafayette didn't mention me, that's possible, too. But, he spoke plenty about you."

Alexander froze, "You...You knew Laf?"

Thomas snorted, "I guess he didn't tell you anything about me, then. Doesn't matter. How is he, anyway?"

Alexander shifted, and he felt the sudden urge to run just to escape the conversation. Somehow, he managed to form the words, "He's...no longer with us,'' the syllables felt foreign to him, "H-He was killed."

Thomas' small smirk fell, "What? What about his boyfriend? What was his name, um-"

"Herc Mulligan. He watched Laf die, helpless. He wouldn't leave with me." Alexander felt tears prick his eyes, "It was too hard for him to-He-It's been hard for all of us-I'm sorry. Eloquence is hard to achieve when one is on the verge of tears."

"And, yet you manage to have a nice vernacular, still." Thomas brought his knees up to his chest, "I'm sorry to hear about Laf's death. He was a good friend."

Alexander wiped his eyes with the same hand with which he'd wiped his mouth before; the blood had long since dried, but continued to stain his skin like a memory that will never fade...despite how hard you try and scrub it away.

Laurens' face. His ex-boyfriend's face. Melted like wax. Like meat falling. Eyes sunken. Maggots eating at the flesh that remained. He could write poetry about the horrors that lay behind the lids of his dark brown eyes.

Eyes from which tears fell. Remembering. Hoping to forget. To survive this apocalypse, despite wanting so much to die. He didn't realize he was falling until Thomas had an arm around him, steadying him, "Alex, are you alright?"

Alexander's mind was racing, and yet blank at the same time. He wanted again to flee, but Thomas was so incredibly warm in this awful cold. He was beautiful, too, in a world so hideous. 

Alexander leaned into the embrace Thomas was holding him in. His face was buried in the other's chest. Large hands massaged smooth circles into his back. 

Sniffing, Alexander pulled back, and looking into Thomas' eyes, the world felt much smaller, much less difficult. In an act of bravery one had to have to survive in this world, Hamilton pressed his lips on Thomas'.

They were soft, like petals that had just blossomed in the beginning of spring. They were enough to remind him that he could continue living. That humanity still remained in this apocalyptic world. 

They could die at any minute; Alexander knew that. But right now, with his lips in smooth motion with Thomas', that didn't matter. Finally, he could push those thoughts away. 

If only for this moment, Alexander could pretend the world was normal.

And, for him, that was enough.


	5. Stenny-Gender Dysphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request for a user on Wattpad.

Kenny noticed how bad Stan had been acting that particular day at school. The noirette's foot was tapping, an anxious habit that Ken had picked up on over the years of knowing him. 

Ken was beginning to become worried, and once the bell rang that finally let them leave the hellhole of a school, they raced over to Stan. Kenny immediately snuck an arm around Stan's waist, pressing a light kiss to his cheek, "Hey, dude!"

The blush that always appeared on Stan's face whenever they even so much as held his hand made his cheeks turn bright pink, making Ken giggle a bit, "You looked kind of out of it earlier. You doin' okay, man?"

Stan let out a breathy sigh, giving Kenny a tight lipped smile, "I'm fine, Ken, I just-" the shadows that always seemed to hang under his pretty blue eyes were darker, "-Can I talk to you about something...Back at my place?"

Kenny frowned, pulling a bit away from Stan. They nodded, "Yeah, of course, dude." They reached to take Stan's hand, squeezing it gently, seeing that Stan seemed worried about something big. 

The pair walked, hands still linked together, until they made it to Stan's house. Stan had yet to come out to his parents as pan, and Kenny understood. It was hard. Coming out to their parents as pan, and then genderfluid...They were never the most accepting people, and...Ken didn't like to talk about it much anymore.

So, yes, Kenny understood about not wanting to show their relationship to Stan's parents.

Once in the safety of Stan's room, Kenny wrapped their arms around their short boyfriend's waist, "What's wrong, Stanny?"

Stan pressed his forehead against Kenny's chest, and Ken knew that his eyes were shut, even without being able to see it happen.

Stan finally spoke after a few minutes, pulling away from Ken enough to meet his eyes, "I'm just so confused, Ken."

Kenny felt their heart pang, and they ran a hand through Stan's soft hair, which Ken noticed that Stan had been letting grow out recently, "With what?"

Stan swallowed a dry lump in his throat, "Just...Fuck, I feel so stupid, Ken. I'm just so confused about gender, and I don't know...I don't know what to call myself anymore. I hate it, I hate myself for feeling this way, but...I don't know...Whenever people use male pronouns for me, it feels awkward. I...I was talking to Pete, one of my friends, and he offered to use female pronouns for a bit, but that felt weird, too. I don't know. I don't feel..." His shoulders slumped, "I don't know what I am anymore."

Kenny moved carefully, tilting Stan's chin upward, "Hey, hey. That's okay. It doesn't make you stupid. It's okay to not identify with male or female. You may just be non-binary."

Stan bit his bottom lip, "I...I was doing research, actually. And..." Stan sniffed a bit, "I called Ky in the middle of the night, just asking him reference me in they/them pronouns, and..." Stan looked less upset, "It felt right. I can't explain it, but-"

Kenny smiled, "That's great, Stan. If that's how you feel, then I'll make sure to use those pronouns. Just know-" they paused to cup Stan's cheek, "-this doesn't make you stupid, or any less loveable."

Stan grinned for the first time that day, and leaned into Kenny's touch, "Thanks, Ken."

Kenny laughed, picking up Stan and twirling them around in a swift motion, making Stan snort. 

The two spent the rest of the afternoon talking about whatever came to their minds. It made Kenny feel better seeing Stan in a mood that was so good for them. 

Kenny was sure about one thing: He loved Stan Marsh, no matter what gender, what name, what shape or size. This kid is Ken's life.


End file.
